


The Ballad of Fiedler and Mundt

by VergofTowels



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Blind Cecil, M/M, Third Eye Cecil, follow-up fic, otherwise fairly interpretive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:06:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VergofTowels/pseuds/VergofTowels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos arrives in Night Vale because he has nowhere else to go.  Surprisingly, Night Vale and its residents - one more than others, it's true - help him work through his issues.</p><p>An expansion/elaboration/explanation of my oneshot Perfect, which you do not need to read, but which may help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Perfect](https://archiveofourown.org/works/973306) by [VergofTowels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VergofTowels/pseuds/VergofTowels). 



> A few weeks ago I played around with a blind Cecil prompt and, in the process, discovered an interesting Carlos. It looked like people were interested in seeing more of them from that particular AU, so this happened. This is less of a plot-driven story and more of a background elaboration. Also, I played a bit with the canon timeline.
> 
> That prompt resulted in the oneshot Perfect, which is not necessary to understand this story, but which may explain where I'm coming from.

The apartment doesn’t have air conditioning and the lights in the stairwell are only on half the time. He supposes that it won’t be that bad, since he’ll be spending most of his time at the lab, anyway. He doesn’t know where the others are staying, hasn’t asked. It isn’t really any of his business.  


He’s been living out of his suitcase for a week now, dirty clothes piling up beside the bathroom door. He needs quarters for the laundry machine but doesn’t yet know where the bank is. There’s no one in his building to ask, he thinks. He hasn’t even seen the landlady. Everything was taken care of for him by the company, except these basic, small necessities. Yet how could they place him alone in an empty apartment building? Or perhaps his neighbors are shy. 

That suits him fine. He’s here for work, not for socializing.

\---

The first three days at the lab they spend cleaning it up. It hasn’t been rented out for a while and has accumulated quite the collection of dust. It’s a good thing the company furnished them with their own instruments; the only equipment they find is a box of broken Erlenmeyer flasks in a closet. They throw them out. 

After three days, it finally seems as though the town’s residents are taking notice of their arrival. He puts down a heavy box of seismograph paper from the back of the truck and wipes his brow. When he glances across the street, squinting against the sun, there is an old woman watching him with a beatific smile on her face. A group of school-aged children shuffle away when they see him looking. Somewhere a dog barks. 

He doesn’t know why they were sent to this Podunk little town.

\---

_He puts down the phone and gives full attention to the woman standing across from his desk. The woman is in a suit and tie, so she must be important. He fights the urge to stand; this is still his office, at least for another day._

_“Dr. Carlos Reyes?”_

_“That’s what the nameplate says,” he replies. His nameplate is on top of a box of office supplies. He doesn’t know what he will do with it now._

_“I’d like to have a minute of your time.” She sits in the chair across from his desk like she owns it. He gives her a closer look. She probably does. “Have you ever thought about a change of location?”_

_He stares at her. “Is that a joke?”_

_She blinks, then a slow smile crawls across her face. “Ah. How insensitive of me. I do apologize.” She offers her hand. “I don’t work for your university, Dr. Reyes. I’d like to offer you a job.”_

_He meets her eyes. The bandages have just come off, but she steadily gazes back at him. He shakes her clammy hand. “Chemical Engineering?”_

_She laughs, a dark tone. “Not exactly. Much more exciting than that.”_

\---

They set up the company-issued seismographs on the fourth day. That day, there’s a large commotion in town and the streets are thronging with people. He tries to keep a low profile, stay inside. There’s something just a little strange about the people here. He supposes it’s the isolation. They’re a canny, close-mouthed lot. Tight-knit. He watches the needles wobble minutely back and forth and ignores the muffled sounds of the goings-on outside. The others don’t seem interested either. 

He’s just locking the lab that evening, the last to leave, when a young man runs up to him, wearing a violet T-shirt with the words “NVCR” and “INTERN” across the front. He has a microphone clutched in one hand. 

“So glad I got at least one of you,” says the young man, panting slightly. “It’s been such a madhouse around here with the new dog park…” He clears his throat and stands up straighter. “I’m Doug the Intern, from Night Vale Community Radio! Can I take a statement, er, sir?”

“I… suppose.” He not even in charge of this installation, but something in him, from the old days, stirs him to help. “What do you want to know?”

Doug sticks the microphone out between them. “What exactly _are_ you, sir?”

\---

_“A new man came into town today. Who is he? What does he want from us? Why his perfect and beautiful haircut? Why his perfect and beautiful coat? He says he is a scientist. Well. We have_ all _been scientists at_ one _point or another in our lives. But why now? Why here? And just what does he plan to do with all those breakers and humming electrical instruments in that lab he's renting? The one next to Big Rico's Pizza. No one does a slice like Big Rico..._ no one. _”_

\---

They’ve been getting some attention in the local news, and his brief, impromptu interview has found its way onto the radio and into the daily newspaper. He’s been too absorbed to take it in himself, but a company representative praises their initiative and says the attention will be good for the project. They are encouraged to broaden their influence. They are encouraged to hold a town meeting.

He doesn’t understand why he is the one left holding the prepared speech and hesitating beside the hastily-erected dais in the middle-school gymnasium. He was never good at public speaking – he almost failed his thesis defense for mumbling – and he doesn’t want to do it now. It’s the first time since the incident he’s had to present himself. His stomach feels like lead as he mounts the stairs.

“’Hello, citizens of Night Vale,’” he reads, eyes pointed down at the paper. His hair swings into his face but he doesn’t brush it back. He hasn’t felt recently like getting it cut. “’My name is Dr. Carlos Reyes and my team and I are here to investigate your small community. Night Vale is one of the most scientifically interesting communities in the United States, after all. We would be glad to answer any questions about our work and findings over the next few months. Thank you.’” He points what could be called a smile toward the crowd.

He’s surprised to see that he recognizes a few faces. The old woman from last week is there, holding a tray of muffins. The intern from the radio is by the corner with his microphone. A cord from the microphone snakes weirdly around his arm and over his shoulder and Carlos frowns, puzzled. Before he can get a better look, though, his attention is caught by a man standing next to the intern.

The man is staring at him with pitch-black eyes and Carlos feels his smile falter. How has he done that? Is he wearing contacts? _Why?_ Then the man’s third eye opens and Carlos is struck speechless.

“That’s Mr. Baldwin,” pipes up a voice at his elbow, “the radio host.” It’s the old woman. She offers him the tray. “Muffin?”


	2. Chapter 2

There’s a lot to work on in Night Vale. Every day strange new incidents pour in from the town and its surrounding environs. He barely has any time to himself anymore, always rushing instead from lab to field and back, ducking aside only for coffee and his mandatory slice of Big Rico’s pizza. It’s fortunate that the shop is so close to the lab, since that allows him to work while he’s eating.

He wonders often if he’s going crazy.

Mr. Baldwin – Cecil – comes around to the lab frequently, apparently having decided (rightly, unfortunately) that this is where the news is. _Doug the Intern died last week,_ he informed Carlos on his second day visiting. _Don’t you listen to the radio? Anyway, the service will be held today in the community bloodstone circle in Mission Grove Park. Wear something nice._

He doesn’t like the way that Cecil looks at him. He likes the way Cecil talks about him even less. Still, he is a useful way to disseminate information. Apparently, the whole town listens to his show.

Cecil gets a permanent press pass from the company.

\---

 _“Carlos and his team of scientists warn that one of the houses in the new development of Desert Creek, out back of the elementary school, doesn't actually exist. ‘It_ seems _like it exists,’ explained Carlos and his perfect hair, ‘like it's just right there when you look at it! And it's between two other identical houses, so it would make more sense for it to be there than not.’ But, he says, they have done experiments and the house is definitely not there. At news time, the scientists are standing in a group on the sidewalk in front of the nonexistent house, daring each other to go knock on the door.”_

\---

The company covers everything up. He’s almost forgotten about the bills and phone calls, the important letters slid into the mail slot and under the door. None of that reaches him here. There’s only, occasionally, a company representative, standing inside the threshold and telling him that everything is fine.

He always spares a moment to thank them absently before turning back to the specimens on his table. After that, shadows shift beyond the windows in the night as the representative withdraws with a cohort of vague, yet menacing, government agents.

He doesn’t like to think about that any more, anyway. There are other things to worry about here.

Like Cecil.

\---

Carlos gets his hair cut because of Cecil. Cecil won’t shut up about it, and Cecil will not stop calling him perfect, and he doesn’t even _know._ He can’t stand to listen to the radio host praise him any longer. 

So he gets it cut.

He doesn’t like to wear it that short, but surely, now, he will be left alone. Even the boisterous barber is hesitant with him afterward as he sits in the chair, staring at his reflection in the mirror, touching his face.

He should have known better.

Cecil comes to the lab two days later _shaking_ in anger, all three eyes open terrifyingly wide. He says _I took care of it for you, wonderful Carlos_ and leaves as suddenly as he’d come. 

Carlos lies awake most nights in Night Vale.

\---

 _“I don’t know what_ could _have possessed you,” Cecil says to Carlos’s neck, fingers buried deep in the long, dark hair at the back of Carlos’s scalp. “Really! A new kind of ectoplasmic parasite? How_ awful! _”_

\---

He starts listening to the radio, at first to gauge Cecil’s mood, then for the news, and then because it’s something to put on in the background when he’s working. The others don’t comment, just continue focusing on their projects as intently as before. Sometimes the radio is helpful – he learns about wheat and wheat by-products before he can incriminate himself accidentally – but most of the time it is frustrating. There is so much going on in this town that he doesn’t know where to focus his attention. And there never seems to be enough time to get everything done.

\---

Time is slowing down in Night Vale.

He doesn’t know what to do, so he calls Cecil. It’s against his personal feelings, but surely this is something the town should know about? Surely this is a very important matter! So he calls Cecil as soon as he calculates the difference in minutes, dredging up Cecil’s phone number from a drawer of odds and ends. He doesn’t have any more time to worry that he’s doing the wrong thing before the call goes through and Cecil’s dulcet tones greet him.

They get a little less dulcet when Cecil figures out it’s him, but Carlos doesn’t really want to deal with that.

“It’s more than a full day longer!” he says, studying his calculations again. “I just don’t know what’s happening here.” He wonders how Cecil will react to this news, this terrible, bizarre news.

“Neat!”

What.

“I mean, that seems like a fascinating subject, Carlos! Do you, ah, do you think we should get together and talk about it a little more? Like, get all the details sorted?”

He’s far too busy for that, so he turns Cecil down, leaving him only with a plea to inform the rest of the town on his program the next evening. 

\---

Cecil does inform the town, and Carlos, listening to the broadcast, wonders suddenly if he’s missed something obvious.


	3. Chapter 3

“Can I come in?” Cecil is standing at the laboratory door again, in his work clothes. It had taken Carlos a long time to figure out that they were supposed to be formal. “If you’re not that busy, that is. I was simply curious about the dog eggs your team recovered from the convenience store this morning.” He seems nervous, but Cecil often seems nervous around him. His thick-rimmed glasses have slid down his nose.

Carlos is the only one in tonight. The others had been called into the Sand Wastes to see about a sound that neither is nor isn’t the Spice Girls. He had opened the door only tentatively. Cecil is still wearing his press pass, so reluctantly, he invites the reporter in. “Sure. I’m actually dissecting one of them right now.”

“How delightful!” 

He leads the way into the lab, donning plastic gloves and goggles at the door. He gives Cecil protective gear as well, though he’s not sure what to do about the third eye. 

The egg is still on the table, in its petri dish, where he left it. They hadn’t been able to ascertain any signs of life as they were conventionally understood before Carlos began the dissection, so he isn’t bothered by the process. This isn’t the kind of science he was doing before, but somehow, it just comes naturally.

Cecil installs himself on a nearby table, kicking his feet back and forth like a child. He looks younger with goggles instead of glasses, though truthfully, Carlos has no idea how old he is. Or if age is even a concept that applies.

“Were you born?” he asks Cecil, suddenly.

“What?” Cecil tilts his head, looking guilty. “I’m _so_ sorry; I wasn’t listening.” 

_Staring at my hair?_ But he feels a little embarrassed about his question – probably not proper etiquette in Night Vale – and doesn’t ask it again. “I said you should probably close your- The egg might jettison some liquid.”

“Ah- Yes! Yes, that would make sense.” The third eye on Cecil’s forehead, possessing a red-violet iris and no pupil, slides closed slowly until it seems as though it was never there at all. “Wouldn’t want any dog egg juice in there!”

“Er, no.” Carlos turns back to the egg, continuing with the transverse incision he had begun before Cecil’s arrival. It’s quiet in the lab, without the radio on. He hadn’t much wanted to listen to the program after Cecil’s, which is apparently playing six hours of uninterrupted cicada noises (to summon them to your home for ritual purposes). There is only the sound of the cuts and a faint swishing as Cecil’s high-heeled, maroon leather boots swing back and forth. He peels back the shell, which is viscous, like bubblegum.

“What are you doing now?” asks Cecil, when Carlos has finished exposing the fetal body inside.

“I’m going to remove the pup and then examine its organs,” he says, mostly to himself, absorbed in his work. 

“Neat!”

He doesn’t smile as he starts levering out the body. He doesn’t. “Yes, very.” And it is. He’s never seen anything like it before, a common occurrence in Night Vale but not one that ever gets old. The town, in some ways, has been good for him. He pushes the eggshell aside for further tests and rolls the body onto its back.

“What kind of dog is it?” Cecil has stilled and is looking at the table with fierce concentration with his weird, coal-black eyes. 

Carlos wishes his own concentration hadn’t been interrupted, but he remembers Cecil’s (genuine?) assertion that _I’m very into science these days_ and swallows a hint of irritation. “I don’t know yet. We’ll probably have to run some genetic tests.”

Cecil nods sagely. “Of course! How foolish of me to think otherwise. I thought, maybe, if it was holding, like, a switchblade, it could be identified by sight!”

Carlos looks at the fetus. “It’s not holding a switchblade.”

“I suppose it’s not a Switchbladed Mountain Dog, then!” Cecil grins, but the expression soon turns into one of concern. “Ah, but of course, we don’t really know if they’re born with the switchblades or if they acquire them later, do we? Perhaps there is yet another breed of dogs out there that exists to provide weapons. Arms-dealing Borzois, perhaps?”

Carlos fights down an incredulous look and simply agrees. “Perhaps.” He makes a Y-incision on the small corpse and pushes back the skin to study the mess inside it. He makes some notes on a pad beside him. Fortunately, the ban on writing implements had been lifted for lab space only, since the laboratory personnel were assisting with the construction of the drawbridge in Old Town Night Vale. 

The dog’s insides appear to be fully-formed, but miniature, versions of human viscera. Interesting… Carlos edges part of the intestine aside and-

“What color is it?”

-accidentally slices it open, resulting in a spill of blood into the cavity. He sighs and pulls back to look at it. “Purple. It’s purple. Unless you perceive purple differently than other people – which, I will concede, is possible – you can see for yourself.” 

“Oh.” 

Carlos turns his gaze to Cecil’s face, which has fallen.

“What is it?”

“Am I bothering you?” the reporter asks, twisting the hem of his long sweater. “I just thought it might be a detail the listeners would be interested in. We do pride the show on specificity. Or, I do, at least. I think Station Management might be more, like, into the ratings, regardless of the details…” He slips off the table he’s appropriated, blinking. “I shouldn’t keep you. Too little sleep and I start hallucinating anyway. …Good night.”

It’s different to hear Cecil say that in person and Carlos raises a hand. “Wait! You don’t have to go. Sorry. It’s just that I lost my concentration and it’s better if I have a silent observer… Someone who observes. In silence.” He meets Cecil’s eyes, or tries to. Cecil seems to be looking through him, almost as if he can’t- 

_Fuck._

“Cecil,” he begins, then pauses. “Cecil…. Are you… blind?”

“What? No!” Cecil crosses his arms defensively, blinking his weird, opaque eyes. “I can see perfectly fine, thank you.”

Well that’s a relief. He’d almost thought he was making an ass of himself.

“It’s just that, what with the equipment and all… You told me it was dangerous to watch!” The third eye twitches disturbingly below its imperceivable lid on Cecil’s forehead. “I was hoping you’d describe your process, but, well, I don’t want to mess you up any more than I already have…”

_Fuck._

Carlos pulls off his gloves and leaves them on the table, walking closer to Cecil. Cecil who still isn’t tracking him. He touches Cecil’s shoulder and gets a jump in response. “I, uh, didn’t know. People – I mean, where I’m from – that is. Night Vale is different from Albuquerque.” Maybe not _that_ much, but still. “You can, uh, look again. If you want to. I don’t _think_ it’s really going to spray that far. Or maybe I should just stick it in the fridge and continue tomorrow.”

“No, that’s okay. It’s getting late anyway.” Cecil takes off his goggles, once again regarding him, fondly, with all three eyes. He seems to have accepted Carlos’s stammering apology. “Maybe I could drop by tomorrow and check up on the experiment, though! Or you could join me for coffee and we could discuss some municipally-approved science!”

Carlos walks him to the door and doesn’t exactly say no.

\---

_“The dog eggs found yesterday in Amy Turner’s convenience store were dissected in the evening by Carlos, who looked stunning in his perfect coat. His hair has begun to grow back, Night Vale, and we should all thank our patron scorpions for being so generous with wishes this year. Carlos was unable to determine the species of dog which had laid the eggs as of air time, but did inform this humble reporter that the dogs were full of organs and vaguely purple in color, at least on the inside._

_Once perfect Carlos has discovered more about the little critters, he’s going to take me on a_ date _so we can talk about them! I am_ so _excited!_

_And now, a word from our sponsor….”_

\---

He does intend to give Cecil an update on the eggs, but that relatively normal mystery gets shoved aside regularly by other, more urgent cares, and so does their coffee date. The company has taken an interest in the house that does not exist, for example, and they determine where the research budget goes. After that, there’s another thing, and after that, another.

He tries to ask Cecil out around Valentine’s Day, only to be horribly surprised at the reality of the holiday. In the end, after locking himself inside, he drinks the Armagnac he bought by himself, alone in his apartment.

He works up the nerve again a few weeks later, but the sandstorm that blows into town puts a stop to it. He misses Cecil’s broadcast because he’s battening down the hatches at the lab, but he stops by Cecil’s apartment afterward. Unfortunately, when he arrives, Cecil doesn’t even look like he wants to talk to him. He seems frightened, glancing over his shoulder constantly, warning Carlos to stay away. Nothing Carlos says to him seems to help, and he leaves confused and concerned.

Although things return to Night Vale normal, it never seems to be… right, after that.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s almost four in the afternoon, perhaps, give or take an hour or so, when someone runs into the laboratory, arms flailing, tongue lashing around. After a good chug of restorative orange milk, she calms down enough to explain: the city below Night Vale is finally attacking. Carlos grabs his bag and drives out there immediately. 

The Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex is swarming with people when he arrives. Teddy Williams, the owner, invites him in gruffly after wading through a terrifying and terrified militia of heavily-armed citizens. In the corner, a birthday party appears to have been interrupted. A half-inflated frog balloon lies on its side by the ball return.

“You say they’re attacking?” he asks, shoving up the sleeves of his lab coat. “Show me.”

Teddy Williams shakes his head vehemently. “Not a chance! This here is _our_ war. We’re ready for ‘em! Let them swarm over Night Vale if they must! We’ll go down tearing their spleens from their treacherous bodies and stomping them with bowling shoes!” 

It takes Carlos a moment to realize he’s serious, but when he does, he throws up his hands. “You’re deranged. Someone had better get to the bottom of this before we all end up doing something stupid.” He can hear Teddy taunting him from behind as he walks toward Lane Five, but he takes no notice.

The pin retrieval area is cramped, but he has no trouble finding the city deep below. It’s pretty apparent. There’s some kind of light source below the bowling alley floor that mimics the desert sun, but the town that he sees does not resemble Night Vale. It is full of broad avenues and shining spires. In the distant town square, there is a crowd milling. They _do_ seem to be holding weapons... He calls into the chasm.

“Hello?”

\---

“Everyone!” he says, jogging toward the concession stand, the official militia headquarters. “Everyone, come with me.” He feels a laugh threatening to burst free and swallows it down. They won’t understand, not until they see. But he is so relieved.

In the pin retrieval area of Lane Five, surrounded closely by his neighbors, he descends into the underground city. The effect is comical when he sets his feet down carefully along two different streets, careful not to squish any of their tiny adversaries. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, Cecil’s voice in his head, “You have nothing to fear.”

There is a great cheering at his words and a tossing-down of arms, which is rather inadvisable in the tight space. Luckily, in Night Vale, guns don’t kill people. Carlos accepts the hand of Teddy Williams and shakes it firmly. “No, it’s my pleasure to assist,” he says. “Thank you. No, thank _you.”_

Then pain blooms across his chest and he can’t breathe.

\---

He wakes on the floor, drowning in the scent of blood. People are murmuring in the background and someone is crying. It hurts to move. 

_Jessica?_

He opens his eyes and sees blood, a pool of it on the floor. He can taste it in his throat. He chokes.

_Did they put out the fire?_

The person who is crying is Cecil, on the radio. It’s playing in the background to the sounds of people talking and Carlos wants to tell them to stop. He wants to tell them to call Cecil and make him stop crying. He wants to call Cecil.

_Jessica?!_

Most of the blood isn’t his own.

_Ay dios mio…_

Someone finally notices he’s awake and comes over. It’s Teddy Williams, who lets out a great hoot in celebration. Carlos closes his eyes and touches the bandages on his chest. The Apache Tracker is dead on the floor beside him.

Someone else is dead because of him.

\---

It’s a cool night and they’re the only ones in the parking lot. Cecil’s head is pillowed on his shoulder, where it feels like it belongs. Carlos remains quiet, trying to comfort himself with Cecil’s warmth.


	5. Chapter 5

“Ah, Carlos~ If you don’t hurry up, we’re going to miss it! I don’t think I need to remind you that I’m supposed to attend for work, too?” calls Cecil from the living room, obviously pacing back and forth. “You are perfect and dear to me, with your lovely, melodious hair, but time waits for no man! In general. There have been rare cases when it has, and quite patiently, too. But you know what I mean!”

Carlos sighs, glaring at the bathroom mirror, tie slung around his neck but otherwise unfastened. There are dark circles beneath his eyes. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Probably because he hasn’t. “Cecil… Maybe you should go without me.”

The pacing stops. “Is everything okay? Have you gotten your flu shot?” The bathroom door slips slowly open and Cecil pokes his head in. “You do look a little cloudy today…”

“I’m fine. I just don’t think I feel up to going out.” He straightens, tries to give Cecil a smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you get dressed up for nothing.” 

“Oh, I’ll just stick my press pass to the lapel,” Cecil says, shrugging, but there’s a note of disappointment in his voice. “I was hoping I could get a statement from you afterward, but now I suppose I’ll have to rely on my own interpretation.” His long fingers tap nervously against the door, nail polish glittering in the fluorescent light.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Carlos replies, but he doesn’t want to drift into a discussion of Cecil’s frankly baffling art criticism, so he hurries on ahead. “You enjoy the show, okay? You’ll have to tell me about it when you come home.” He draws Cecil into a quick hug, then presses their lips together. Cecil tastes of pomegranates.

When he is alone, he sits on the couch, still in the embrace of a limp silk tie, and tries to forget the nightmares.

\---

“Little town, it’s a quiet village. Every day like the one before. Little town, full of little people… Who want to kill you. Bonjour, and welcome to Night Vale.”

\---

“The city council would like to remind all citizens over the age of eighteen years to register for their flu shot. This year we are expected to be hit by a particularly virulent strain of the flu, and contracting it early is the best way to get over it early. Don’t let your flu keep you from school or work, Night Vale! Schedule your flu shot today! Shots are being offered in the parking lot of the Ralph’s on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday.

“Reports are coming in from Night Vale Community College that there has been some sort of incident today. Apparently, the chemistry lab started smoking around noon and has since exploded! No news yet on the cause of the accident, or if there were any casualties. Simone Rigadeau, who observed the explosion from her home in the abandoned Earth Sciences building, described the noise as ‘deafening’ and the sight as ‘breathtakingly spectacular.’ More on this story as it develops. 

“Now let’s have a look at traffic!”

\---

“There is a tire track stretching down a lonely, barren road. The crevices fill slowly with water. It is raining. It is not raining. When will the water stop? When will the tears stop? You bend down to pick up the car jack and find that it is not there. It is only one of many things missing from your life. You feel lost. You are lost. You should have picked up that travel guide from the tourist information center at exit 15.”

\--- 

“This has been Traffic.

“Listeners, we have just received an update on the explosion at the community college. The sheriff’s secret policemen have been investigating the scene of the disaster and have concluded that the cause of the explosion was the mixing of two incorrect chemicals, which subsequently lit on fire and ignited the fumes in the room. The ventilation system at the college, although only renovated recently, was apparently not working.

“Students and faculty are still crawling from the scene, and the list of missing persons is still quite long. If you have any information regarding this event or people who have yet to be found, please speak into the nearest trash bin or leave a message on our Facebook page.

“If you missed the explosion and would still like to see some fireworks this weekend, you can head to Radon Canyon for the semi-annual Celebration of the Lights, this Saturday, starting at 9 PM. Admission for children is free, but rebreathers are limited in number, so show up early!

“And now, a word from our sponsor.”

\---

“Have _you_ ever wondered how blood works? Ever tried to find out? Well now your questions will be answered! Pick that needle right up. See how it works? Feel that flow? Feel it? Feel it. Take it in. Let it out. Squeeze your blood into a vial! Send it to us for testing! Don’t ask stupid questions!

“This message brought to you by Nokia. Connecting people.”

\---

“The fire from the explosion at the Night Vale Community College chemistry lab continues to rage on, according to listeners who have Facebooked in from the scene. Apparently the fire is burning green and yellow and can’t seem to decide which way to blow, despite the airless conditions today and all days. 

“Only one casualty has been reported: Jessica Chamberlain, the chemistry department’s teaching assistant. Regrettably, young Jessica was consumed in flames before firefighters could rescue her from the lab. Only one person was found in the lab with her: Carlos Reyes, my perfect Carlos, who set the fire in the first place. His beautiful hands, the ones which mixed the fatal chemical concoction, were undamaged in the catastrophe, but his face, once flawless as his character, was marred by a terrible burn that will haunt him the rest of his days.

“To the family of Jessica, we are sorry for your loss. But hey, if you’re going to die, better to be killed by wonderful Carlos, right? Right.”

\---

Cecil’s tongue is rough like a cat’s, but it feels good against his skin, pleasant and painful in equal measure. He closes his eyes as Cecil licks up the inside of his thigh, hands curling into the sheets as Cecil encloses him with his mouth, swallowing him down and down until he can no longer make sense of the world. When he comes to, Cecil is finished.

“My perfect Carlos, мой идеальный Carlos…” 

Carlos feels the heavy weight of satisfaction ebbing away at those words, and though he tries to hold onto it, he is left feeling empty, staring down into Cecil’s night-filled eyes. “Don’t… Cecil, I…” He touches his boyfriend’s face, shifts so that Cecil is on top of him, no more burden than a dusting of snow. “I asked you to stop.”

Cecil’s third eye flickers open and he looks contrite. “Yes… I remember. I’m sorry.” He presses a kiss to Carlos’s cheek. “But it’s very hard for me. You can’t see what I see when I look at you.”

Carlos lets his hair fall into his face and wraps his arms around Cecil’s smooth, pale lower back. “And what is that?” Even after all this time, he’s glad their apartment has no mirrors.

“Hmm.” Cecil lays his head against Carlos’s shoulder. “It’s hard to explain. Maybe… the taste of blackberries? Or blueberries, if they’ve been frozen.” He lets his fingers stroke Carlos’s side. “And the sound of deep water washing against a shore. The feel of bumblebees that won’t sting you landing on your skin. The smell of coffee in the morning when it’s still dark and cold before sunrise.”

_“…Cecil.”_

“Sometimes when you’re angry or sad there’s a feeling like fire lighting and I can _see_ that, but I’m not really sure how to describe it…” His fingers still and Carlos can feel him smiling against his skin. “But most of all there’s a sense of well-being. You’re very constant, my Carlos! It’s one of the things I love about you.”

Carlos turns them over, ignoring his boyfriend’s shriek of surprise, and starts kissing along Cecil’s neck. Cecil squirms beneath him, giggling breathlessly and protesting, mostly in jest. “Thank you,” Carlos says, when he’s reached Cecil’s collar bones. “Thank you, my perfect Cecil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes about Cecil's vision: OKAY. So. The original prompt called for a Cecil who sees auras, and I ran with this to mean that while Cecil can generally perceive the shape of things, objects' actual colors and visible attributes (like Carlos's scar in Perfect) are not readily apparent. My roommate and I talked a lot about how Cecil would describe auras to people, though, because he couldn't really tell someone what colors he was seeing - how would he know they were the same?
> 
> So she thought Cecil would have to go kind of synesthetically - describe his vision using his other senses. That is what I have tried to do here. Apologies that this was not worked into the fic well, but this is a story about Carlos and no matter how I tried, this info didn't seem to fit anywhere I put it... Kudos to my roommate for the idea and being awesome. :)


	6. Chapter 6

He is no longer surprised when he looks up from a slice at Big Rico’s and catches sight of a familiar face. He’s been in Night Vale for three years now, and even though citizens will occasionally show up out of the blue or disappear tragically into the void, the population around him has remained fairly constant. He’s even grown to recognize several of the hooded figures and knows half a dozen of the disturbing messenger children by name. It might be the strangest place he’s ever lived, but it’s the closest he’s felt to home since childhood.

What marks today as anomalous is not the screaming cloud of insects that is making its way toward the city from the Sand Wastes, nor is it the ambiguous pit that has just opened outside the car park. These matters will, eventually, require his attention, but right now, something else is occupying it entirely. Or rather, some _one._

_“Adelaide?”_

A tall woman in jeans and pumps is standing in the doorway, looking around like she’s not quite sure why she came in. Of everyone in the restaurant, she is probably the most normal. She stands out. “Carlos,” she says, relief brightening her face when she sees him. She walks across the tiled floor with purpose and, without asking, slides into the seat across from him. “I’m so glad I found you.”

“Glad you found me…” He echoes her without comprehension, then shakes his head. “I wasn’t really hiding or anything.” He puts his slice of wheat-free pizza down and wipes his hands hastily on a napkin. “Were you, uh, looking?”

“Yes!” She leans forward, her hair, pulled into a tail, swinging forward. “I wanted to see you. You were one of the most brilliant minds at the University, you know. Your absence is still being felt in the Chemistry department.” She taps her nails against the tabletop. 

Ah. Carlos sighs, becoming slightly more reserved. “I didn’t leave because I wanted to; nevertheless, I think it’s been good for me. Out here. There’s a lot to do and I keep myself busy.” He runs a hand back through his hair, also pulled back these days. “But I’m sure you’ve accomplished a lot back ho- Back in Albuquerque.” Why equivocate? He’d never felt any attachment to that city.

“Maybe. But we need better minds. Come back.” 

“What?” Carlos blinks at the determination he sees in her face.

Adelaide reaches into her pocket and pulls out a letter, printed on heavy, official paper and still sealed. “The Board wants to offer you a position. All the info is in here. And you’ll be getting a raise.” 

“Adelaide…” Carlos takes the letter, but he doesn’t even feel a spark of curiosity as to its contents. He places it on the table. “Thank you. For coming out here, for looking out for me. I appreciate it, and it’s nice to see you again, but I’m not coming back.”

She stares at him, then at the letter. “But why?” Then a light seems to go on and she looks abruptly sympathetic. “Is this about the accident? You don’t have to worry about that, Carlos. They ruled that there wasn’t any blame. Hardly anyone even talks about it anymore, except when they’re visiting the memorial.”

The reminder is painful, but less so, now. He’s starting to make peace with his past and all that entails. “That _is_ one of the reasons, but only one. I have a job here, and a duty to the people of Night Vale.” _Some_ one had to protect them, after all, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Teddy Williams.

Adelaide furrows her brows. “I don’t understand. Surely you could be doing more good with the resources at the University? What’s so compelling about this shitty little-”

“Carlos~! I’m _so_ sorry I’m late, but you know how things go, especially now that Khoshekh’s gearing up for his second litter. Like, things are absolutely _crazy_ at the station! I- Oh. You have… company?” Cecil’s rapid entrance slows to a trot as he approaches the table, and he hesitates by Carlos’s shoulder.

Carlos smiles up at Cecil with an embarrassing amount of affection, he’s sure, and wraps an arm around his boyfriend’s velvet-clad waist. “This is one of my colleagues from before I came here, _amor._ Adelaide, this is Cecil.”

They regard each other carefully. Cecil looks torn between curiosity and annoyance. Adelaide… Well, Adelaide probably looks a lot like he had the first time he’d met the radio host. She abruptly stands. 

“Well, I won’t interrupt,” she says, voice uncertain. She turns to gaze back to Carlos, the less disconcerting of the two of them. “I’m sorry you won’t be rejoining us, but you, uh, seem to have… something. Here. So. Good bye.”

Carlos shakes her hand as Cecil takes her spot at the table. “Good bye, Adelaide.” He watches her leave Big Rico’s, then picks up his cooling pizza.

“She didn’t have to leave so _soon,”_ Cecil says, helping himself to a sip of Carlos’s enigmatic, glowing, green soda. “I would have liked to find out more about your life before your arrival! And she could have brought us some news from the outside world! I’d kill to get an interview…” He snaps his fingers. “I bet I can catch her. Don’t go anywhere, my dear Carlos!” He leans across the table for a quick kiss, then bounds out the door, three eyes sparkling.

“Have fun!” calls Carlos, giving a little wave. 

It’s just a normal day in Night Vale. Even though he’s finished his meal, he will wait for Cecil to come back and they will talk about their days. Maybe afterward they’ll go for a nice walk, do some science, repel a cloud of screaming insects… Maybe it’s strange compared to before, but he doesn’t want to go back. He’ll gladly take the weirdness and uncertainty, if not because of the scientific opportunities, then because he got a chance to meet his boyfriend, who sees him like ripples on a vast and inky ocean.

Every night before bed, he makes a small blood sacrifice to protect Cecil, and every night he throws in a drop or two extra thanking Strex Corp for sending him here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished! I wrote this before ep. 32 came out, or at least before I'd heard it, so the ending seemed a bit more unexpected/uncliche then, but oh well. Thanks to everyone who read and commented! I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I am unlikely to write another story along this vein (I apologize) so you can make what you will of this vague yet menacing cliffhanger. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Excerpts from Welcome to Night Vale were taken from cecilspeaks.tumblr.com and are the property of Commonplace Books. The title of this fic is the opening music for Night Vale, which is by Disparition.
> 
> This fic is finished and not actually that long, so I will be updating regularly this week until it's all up. :)


End file.
